


A Prayer For Issac

by syncro37



Category: Paranatural (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen, Slightly modified ending, YOLO
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 21:48:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7331791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syncro37/pseuds/syncro37
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In deepest hollows of our minds<br/>A system failure left behind<br/>And their necks crane<br/>As they turn to pray for rain<br/>-<br/>Massive Attack</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A tad more Romantic(with a capital R) and wordy than I'm used to but then again, Issac's that kind of character. I hope I did him justice, i.e., I hope I made him as petty and angsty as he is in the comic.
> 
> Thanks goes to "Blitzdrake" for editing.

It was a dark and stormy night. Of course, all the nights were dark and stormy in Mayview.

 

Isaac looks out the window and scowls. He settles his pen and closes the curtains, then retreats back to his desk. He has a manga to finish, and yes dear reader, it’s manga, even if a _certain author_ ’ _s_ skin bears the complexion of sour cream  and even if this _certain_ author is writing this in a very American, podunk town; no use in arguing otherwise, for it is the _art_ that defines itself.

 

How dare those fools call his masterpiece a ‘mere _cartoon._ ’ Isaac doesn’t leave his gray hair frazzled and oily for a _cartoon_.

 

Isaac takes a moment to run ancient fingers through his scraggly beard. How would.. How would he let the reader know what Haru felt the moment prince Dragonfang plunged the Scepter of Trust from his back and through his heart? Such is the struggle of theatrics, Isaac thought, but he embraces this struggle because unlike _some_ people, Isaac never leaves in readers in the dark.

 

Breath hitching, Isaac grips his pen, and furiously thinks about all the ways he can draw betrayal in Haru’s eyes. Blue sparks escape from Isaac's fingertips, the ink explodes everywhere, and someone throws Isaac into a foul reality.

 

“ _Rude_!”

 

“Old Man.” A dark, bulky cloud comes out from the darkness. “Old man Isssaaac.”

 

“Craaaanky weather spirit.” The old man whirls his fingers for dramatic effect.

 

“Why,” the Spirit floats inches above Isaac’s face, arms ready to strangle, “do you insist on wasting our potential?”

 

Isaac narrows his blue eyes. “Mine or yours?”

 

“Insolent Geezer,” the spirit growls, “can’t you see I’m trying to help you? All this time I’ve gifted you with the power to change the world, instigate justice, eradicate the wicked, but what have you done? Play with your little spirit friends? Draw some cartoons? Wait to _die_?”

 

“Looks like you kinda suck at picking mediums Thundernipples,” Isaac smirks. He looks down at his body. “Too bad you're trapped here, for, I dunno, as long as I live I guess.” He returns the Spirit’s intrusion of personal space. “Sucks, doesn’t it?”

 

The spirit’s face convulses for a split second, and then softens. “It doesn’t matter. In the end you will decay either way, and I will eventually take my reward. With a face so scrawny and wrinkled it won’t be long.”

 

A storm brews in Isaac. “Why I oughta-”

 

“-give you some hell!” With a flushed face and wild eyes, Isaac re-examines reality. He looks down at his hands. _Dying_.

 

Ignoring the puddles of splattered ink, Isaac thinks to himself. Thinks about how everyone has left him. Left him to ward a town inhabited by the dead. Left him to die. Left him to die, alone and ignorant.

 

“Isaac you won’t believe what Forge did ag- Oh, ho ho, what is this mess?”

 

Perhaps not _entirely_ alone.

 

“Doorman,” Isaac gasps. “It’s good to see you.”

 

A humanoid with the head of a doorknob enters a not-so clean room, dusting off his red suit and beating his hat.

 

“Nice to see you too young master,” Doorman says as he walks over to Isaac and his desk, “You have a little something... well, everywhere.”

 

“My pen exploded,” Isaac says lamely. Why does The Doorman take fancy in calling a 76 year old, ‘young master’?

 

“It appears so,” Doorman chuckles.

 

The old man groans and leans forward.

 

“Isaac.” Metallic fingers pry Isaac's ink stained hands away his face. “Are you well?”

 

Sometimes Isaac forgets Doorman has no face. He grimaces at his reflection.

 

“He pulled me back in Doorman.”  Isaac starts to sweat. ” I don’t know how much longer I can hold him back.” The scorching heat, the ferocious storms, it’s all too much for Isaac to bear.

 

Doorman patted his back. “May rain come and save you Isaac.”

 

Only rain could break the storms and cool the heat, simmer the violence and wash away the drought. Isaac doesn’t believe in anything but he joins Doorman in his moment of silence.  

 

...

 

“Listen Doorman, if Thundernipples starts taking me again I want you to ki-”

 

A rare _knock_ beats across the house. Seconds later, again, _knock, Tap, knock._

 

Isaac smiles and puts forth an electric hand as he slides down the rails and creeps towards the door. He couldn’t let anybody in but Isaac wants to hear a voice other than his own. He peaks out the window.

 

It’s Max. Maxwell Puckett and his damn, wrinkly face with his damn cap, and his damn everything. Hand retracting from the wall as if licked by fire, Isaac retreats to his den upstairs.

 

“Doorman it’s fucking Max,” Isaac whines. “You have to tell him I’m not here or like, dead.”

 

Wagging his finger, Doorman says, “You know I can’t tell a lie Isaac. A true patron of virtue never takes the easy route of deception.”

 

Isaac doesn’t dare step out of his house so he sits down and waits for Max to leave.

 

The knocking persists in waves, growing more violent like thunder stirring hell in the sky. Then it tempers a bit, like most storms do.

 

“Isaac.”

 

Isaac looks at The Doorman, who stands silently. He wraps his arms around trembling knees.

 

“ _Isaac._ ” The knocking returns.

 

Faster.

 

_Knock, knock, knock._

 

“Please stop.”

 

Louder.

 

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

 

“Make it stop,” Isaac cries.

 

Harder. The bat makes everything ring.

 

_Thump. Thunk. Thwack._

 

Isaac gets up. The lock rattles and the door splints.

 

“I know you’re home Isaac.”

 

The rotten wood creaks under the weight of torn boots.

 

“Isaac!”

 

_Boom! Boom! B-_

 

“JUST _STOP IT_!”

 

**_CRACK_ **

 

A flash of lighting. And what’s left of the ‘door’. Max stands before a glowing Isaac in one piece, hacking in the smoke.

 

“ _You_ ,” Isaac heaves across a massive hole.

 

Max puts his bat down. “I just want to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I switched tenses, this time it's intentional. Tell me if it works or not.
> 
> Read, comment, and enjoy :D


	2. Chapter 2

“We have nothing to talk about,“ Isaac scowls.

 

“Nice to see you too. How’s the weather?” Max takes a step forward but Isaac readies his hands.

 

“Since when did you care about this town?”

 

“Um, since I’ve lived here?” 

 

Isaac looks at Max’s cocked head and chuckles. “But not for too long.”

 

The cement leaks goo as Max leaks black. “What’s your  _ problem _ ?” 

 

Isaac sneers. This is just like Max: To play dumb; to demand answers whist withholding them from others. “Jeez, I don’t know Max, maybe it has something to do with leaving me out to rot in a literal ghost town. But it’s Ok Max, I understand you and the others don’t want to deal with the boring stuff.” 

 

“Or maybe you’re just paranoid and jump to conclusions with no backbone. Maybe you convinced yourself everyone was against you haven’t bothered to talk with anyone living in such a long time while, stewing in your own angst.” Max lets out a raspy laugh.

 

“So now you want to be my therapist?” A pair of crooked teeth scrape against each other. Isaac tries to contain the sparks prickling at the surface of his skin. The task grows harder with every second he spends looking at Max.

 

Max meets Isaac's eyes, hands curling in rigid balls. “No, I-I just want to be your friend,” he looks at his bat, “...again.” He takes a deep breath and the black evaporates.

 

Isaac backs away. “It’s a little too late for that.”

 

“Ok fine... but there’s some- no, a lot of things I have to tell you. Things everyone should have but didn’t, even if you were kind of dick about it too.” Max looks Isaac in the eyes, “But that doesn’t matter now because I’m not leaving until I tell you everything you need to know.” Isaac is burning when Max marches close to him, inches away. He takes one of Isaac’s hands a little too forcefully. “C’mon. We’re going out.”

 

A hand smothered in bolts tries to jerk out of the oven but the door clamps down.

 

“I can’t,” Isaac says, wincing.

 

“The two feet attached to your legs tell me you can.” Max tugs a bit more softly.

 

“Well the foreboding weather spirit endangering everyone tells me _ I can’t _ .” Max and Isaac stand still for a bit, neither giving an inch to the other until Isaac stops pulling away. “You won’t leave until I step out, will you?”

 

Max shakes his head. “It’ll be fine.  _ We’ll _ be fine. Because Scrapdragon can handle anything Thundernipples throws at us. Now let’s cool off, it’s hot out here.”

 

Isaac huffs and shoves his hands in gaping pockets. To be honest, he’s little out of practice talking with the living. About 60 years of seclusion will do that to someone. He doesn’t know whether he prefers seeing Max alive or dead, but either way Isaac is stuck with a very alive, and well Max. 

 

A man wearing a black tie and grey cap walks out with a disheveled man in a raincoat. When droplets of rain starts to fall The Ex-Consortium Agent whips out an umbrella.

 

Doorman watches them leave. 

They have a lot of catching up to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I modified the ending a bit because I felt it was a bit too unfair to Max. Tell me, is Max OOC?

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback and Criticism is welcome, thanks for reading!


End file.
